


Man Up, Watson

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Sherlock and Mycroft Fluff [30]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 4+1 times, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Some Fluff, bad timing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 05:46:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7347571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times John almost asked Sherlock to marry him, but was interrupted and then one time Sherlock got there first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man Up, Watson

**One**

John looked at himself in the mirror. He thought he looked presentable. He was wearing the jeans that Sherlock liked him in and his oatmeal jumper. The detective always complained about the jumper, but John had caught his boyfriend sleeping with it once when he had come back early from a medical conference. He figured that said something. Running his fingers through his hair, he stood tall and told his reflection, “Man up, Watson.” The little box in his pocket felt as though it would burn its way through.

Sherlock came barrelling through the bedroom door. “John!”

“What is it?”

“Gavin just ca… what are you doing?”

“My hair. Nothing. Get over it.”

“Nooo, it's definitely not 'nothing',” the detective observed. He cocked his head to the side and looked appreciatively at John's jeans clad bum. “You were going to take me out on a date.”

“It doesn't matter,” he repeated firmly.

“You've never taken me out on a date before. In fact we've never been on one.”

“You took me to Angelo's when we first met. Anyway, what's up with Greg?”

“He has a locked room murder on his hands and the only person with motive was out of the country at the time of death.” Sherlock rubbed his hands together. “He asked us to come right away. But I could…”

“No, babe, it's fine. You haven't had a case in weeks.”

“I know but-”

John laughed. “You mean you would rather sit and eat out?”

Since Sherlock wasn't allowed to lie, he didn't say anything.

“Right.” John took him by the hand. “We can do this another time. Let's go catch a killer.” He dragged Sherlock from the flat and into the night.

 

**Two**

“Bored, John! Bored!”

“Sherlock… it’s been 10 minutes since we got back.”

“Bored, John!”

“God dammit, you're like an impertinent toddler.”

“If you had to live inside my mind you wouldn't say that.” Sherlock ceased his pacing and threw himself down on the sofa with his Belstaff still wrapped around him. “What I wouldn't give for a tiny little brain that could go silent at a moment's notice.”

“Tiny little brain like mine you mean?”

The detective let one eyebrow raise. “I don't know what you mean.”

“That was a dig at me, don't try and deny it. Definite toddler.”

“John, please... Don't be ridiculous.”

The doctor knew he was being anything but. Still, such things had long ceased annoying him. He went to put on tea as a distraction for himself.

“Do something, John! Make it stop!” Sherlock flopped over onto his other side. “You're supposed to be good at managing me. Everyone thinks so.”

Smiling John pushed his hand into his pocket and pulled out the little box that was there. He stared at it for nearly a full minute. He must be mad to want to do this… He loved mad.

As he was about to walk back into the sitting room he heard the door go and then paused.

“Brother mine, what have I told you about leaving Gregory behind all the time?”

And damn. The doctor shoved the box back in his pocket and walked into the living room. “Hello, Mycroft,” he said with annoyance.

The government official's eyebrows shot up. He hadn't received such a cold greeting from John in years. Looking him over from head to toe, he quickly deduced the cause. “Ah. John, I'm truly sorry for intruding. I didn't realise-”

John waved him off. “Sorry. I'm just tired.”

He smirked knowingly. “Of course.”

Sherlock was frowning between the two of them, clearly trying to deduce. And failing.

“What-”

“It's nothing, brother dear, but I would like an answer to my question about Gregory

“Sod off, Mycroft.”

“Oh, brother-mine, I'm afraid not.” The government official sat in his brother's chair. “If you continue to break the simple rules that have been put in place to keep you safe, I'll have no choice but to ask Gregory to keep you off all cases in the future.”

Sherlock flopped back over. “John, there's arsenic in the sugar pot. Put plenty in Mycroft's tea.”

Instead the doctor folded his arms. Maybe he could forgive Mycroft for interrupting them for something as detrimental to Sherlock's health as this.

“Oh no, 'Lock, I think you can hear your big brother out. And why is there arsenic in the sugar pot?”

“Experiment.”

“Experiment, my arse.” John tapped his boyfriend on the shoulder. “I use the sugar in the sugar pot, you complete and utter prick.”

“I was going to tell you.” Reluctantly, the detective sat up. “Fine, Mycroft. Give me the standard lecture and I'll try to listen.”

“Oh no, no, no, little brother. As you've just made quite clear yourself, you don't listen and the numerous amount of times I've given the standard lecture is reaching triple figures.”

He bent down and picked him up by the scruff of the neck. “You're coming to apologise this time.”

“John, make him leave me alone! You were going to take me on a date. That can't happen if he drags me across town to apologise to Gavin.”

“It's fine,” John inclined his head. “Your manners to the people who care for you are atrocious. Maybe this will make you more tolerable.”

“John!” Sherlock whinged as he was guided out the door.

The doctor sighed as he finished making himself tea. It looked like he'd have to try his plan another time.

**Three**

Sherlock had his yellow goggles perched on his forehead, the blow torch alight in his hand. Despite the dubious safety of the situation, it made John's heart swell with love and he thought of the small box he had hidden in the dresser in his old upstairs room.

“Do you really have to use that thing?” He eyed the blow torch in Sherlock's hand warily. “It will melt on its own.”

“Moriarty has hidden something in the centre of this thing. I am not waiting the-” he paused to calculate how long it would take a 3ft block of ice to thaw out at the rather colder than normal temperature of the room, “-2 days it would take for this to thaw on its own!”

“You could use an ice pick, you know.” John tapped on the block of ice.

“It might damage what's inside.”

The doctor heaved a sigh. “And the heat from the blow torch won't? Stick it in the sink and leave it.” And let me propose to you, you git!

“John, it's important!”

Sod this, Sherlock thought, dubiously. He put the blow torch down and then shoved the block of ice hard, it fell off the side of the table with a crunch, the ice had cracked but so had the floor tiles.

“Dammit, Sherlock!”

“Oops.”

“Damn right, oops.” John shoved the detective towards the door to the flat. “Get your arse down the stairs and tell Mrs. Hudson what you've done this time.”

“But, John-”

“Don't try and argue with me, Sherlock!”

“The case-”

“Will bloody well wait!” And so would the proposal. He sighed as Sherlock went downstairs, then he went through to look at the mess in the kitchen.

He had done a better job on the ice cube than John had expected but the tiles had much more damage to them than he had realised as well. Sherlock certainly had some explaining to do.

Resigning himself to it, John started cleaning up the mess. He tossed chunk after chunk of ice into the sink. “Infuriating git.” The broken pieces of tile went straight into the bin.

But as he got closer to the centre of the large cube of ice, he realised he could see what was inside of it.

Sherlock would love it and he wasn't mad enough at the loveable sod to let him miss out. It might also give him a chance with that little box… if all went well, that is.

“Sherlock!” He yelled.

The detective reappeared, looking well chastised. “She was not happy, John. Very definitely not happ-” He spotted what John had seen and bounded over, his face lighting up.

“Don't touch it yet!”

“But-”

“You can clear up the rest of those tiles first, and then you can play.”

“But-”

“Now Sherlock!”

John was kind of glad he's paused him in his little game. It was quite fitting he cleared up his own mess.

He grumbled his complaints even as he compiled.

Every chunk of tile crashed into the bin loudly, one after the other. John looked on, amused.

“Don't overload the bin. You'll just tear the liner and have to start all over.”

“I can toss it, bin and all, out the window. I'm in a hurry, John.”

John put a warning hand on his shoulder.

“Stop. You'll get to it, just chill out.”

John knew deep down, whatever this meant for the case it would be a long time before the little box could come out to play.

In fact, they didn't think of anything but the case for three days. When they did think of something it was food and sleep in that order. Actually, it was John who thought of those things, but he insisted Sherlock partake as well.

Sherlock slept for over 2 days solid. John nearly matched him on that front.

But when they were finally in the land of the living John sadly felt that the perfect moment had passed. Bloody case!

 

**Four**

“Sherlock Holmes get your backside down here young man!”

John sniggered from his chair. “You better go and see what she wants, babe.”

Muttering to himself the whole way, Sherlock slunk down to 221A. The moment he had disappeared through the door, John started thinking about the box in his pocket. Perhaps this would be the day. It was actually supposed to be sunny. They could walk down to the park and he could propose there. He could get an old picnic blanket out and they could act like they were teenagers at the weekend. Lounging around…

However, after an hour of no reappearing Sherlock he decided he needed to go and see if Mrs. Hudson had actually eaten him.

What he found made him laugh. Sherlock was on his knees, scrubbing Mrs. Hudson's kitchen floor with a small scrubbing brush.

“What did he do this time, Mrs. Hudson?”

“He assured me it was sugar that he loaned me, but look at me floor John. Luckily I spilled some before I used it. It turned my floor pink. Pink, John! Pink!” She wrung her hands. “I should have known better, of course.”

“Sherlock!”

The detective actually flinched. “It was an accident, John, honest!”

“An accident! You accidentally gave our landlady a bowl of not-sugar that turned the floor pink?”

“Well… yes?”

“Is that a question?”

Mrs. Hudson nudged him with her foot. “Keep going. I won't my pretty floor back.”

“It was an accident because the two pots looked the same!”

“Mrs. Hudson, if you need sugar, ask me and I'll be happy to go buy you some.” Maybe he'd start keeping a secret stash up in his old room. In a locked box. Under his bed.

With that bloody little box.

Sherlock tried to get to his feet but their landlady stepped on his back with one slipper holding him down.

“I believe John wanted me for something, Mrs. Hudson.”

The doctor shook his head. “Nope nothing that won't hold for a while. Keep him as long as you like, Mrs. H.”

 

**Four+**

Sherlock appeared from their bedroom, dressed snappy as always. He walked over and picked up his violin, playing it for once, rather than torturing it. He was playing a piece that he knew from experience John liked.

Except John wasn't home. At least not yet. He knew the older man would be back at 6 so Sherlock had arranged Angelo to drop off their dinner just before.

Tonight, he had a plan.

“Mrs. Hudson!” He bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Mrs. Hudson, I need you!”

A few minutes later their landlady appeared. “What is it, Sherlock dear?” she asked as she rubbed at her hip.

“I require candles. Several candles and chocolate cake.” He whirled about and pierced her with his stare. “Chocolate is John's favourite, correct?”

She nodded. “Yes, dear. But what do you need candles for?”

“I can't tell you until after.”

“Oooh…” she turned and hurried down the stairs far faster than she'd come up them.

When she came back, she even brought a lighter. “You shouldn't light them with a blow torch. Have you considered music? Pick songs he likes, not what you like, and make them romantic, dear.” She patted his cheek. “Now I'll run along and bake that cake. I'll make it truly decadent. Maybe a chocolate lava cake.” She gave him a once over. “Change out of that white shirt. Put on the purple one.”

“Aubergine.”

“Whatever.”

He smirked and glanced at the clock. He had an hour. He jumped in the shower and made sure he used John's shampoo because it made his hair go mad and the doctor loved that.

When Sherlock had finished with his shower and dressed, he went to their bedroom and fetched a small black box from beneath the bed. He'd had it for some time and had got tired of waiting for the perfect moment to present it to John. Instead, he'd decided to create the perfect moment. Knowing his boyfriend would be home soon, he went into the living room and put on some music, then he started lighting the candles.

Mrs Hudson had dropped off a lot of candles.

A lot.

He looked around. They lined the room, the table and the kitchen units.

Suddenly, Sherlock felt nervous. He paced the flat, cleaning little piles of clutter and tucking away case notes. He consulted the clock in his head. John should be home any moment. In fact, the front door should go just about... just about... He strained, listening. The front door went and the doctor started up the stairs.

Sherlock raced to the table and collapsed behind Angelo's food still steaming on the plates.

When John walked into the room, he froze, completely stunned. “Sherlock?” He looked around for his boyfriend. “What type of psychological experiment is this?”

“It doesn't have to be an experiment, John.” The detective stood and strode over, taking John in his arms for a kiss. “This is a special evening. I wanted to get it right.”

The doctor frowned and didn't move.

Sighing, half-heartedly, Sherlock crouched down and picked John up. He carried him to the table and deposited him in his seat.

That, at least, made John giggle. Sherlock opened a bottle of champagne and poured for them both. “Champagne? What's the occasion?”

“I told you it's a very special night. I wonder if any night before this one has even mattered.”

“You know, you're actually kind of scaring me,” John said with a half smile.

Sherlock smirked. “Me running across London scares you,” he countered.

“Because you run like a moron into oncoming traffic.”

“No… you do.”

Sherlock cut the banter short by actually taking a bite of his food. John gawped for a moment, then joined in.

“Angelo's,” he said almost immediately.

“Did you seriously expect me to cook?” At the blond's look he continued. “John, I burn toast.”

“Ha! I bet you would burn water.”

“Not possible.”

“Yeah, well, you'd forget about it and burn a hole through the pan.”

Sherlock blushed.

“Oh, my God, you've actually done that, haven't you?!”

“I was at university!” He exclaimed, indignantly.

“And?”

“And I lived in a very large manor with a lot of staff until I turned 16.”

John barked out a laugh. “I bet you didn't know how to wash clothes either. You just chucked them in all together and they came out grey.”

Sherlock blushed.

“Purple actually.”

“Like your shirt.”

“It's aubergine!”

John had to turn away from the table to stop himself choking to death on his laugh.

“Whatever,” the doctor said when he had himself back under control.

“You sound just like Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. Neither of you has a sense of style. Luckily you have me.” He slipped off his chair and walked around to stand next to John.

The doctor looked up and frowned at him.

“'Lock?”

Sherlock debated going down on his knee, but instead he held out a hand. When John took it, he helped him to his feet. “You may have noticed that I'm not an idiot.”

“Most of the time,” John agreed.

“Hush, this is important.” Sherlock took a deep breath. “Since I'm not an idiot, I've realised something. I've realised that we are better together. For that reason, I bought this.” He reached into his pocket and brought out the box. Opening it, he presented it to John, showing him the simple ring inside. “It is my dearest hope that you will consent to stay with me forever.” Sherlock swallowed hard. “John, will you marry me?”

The doctor froze for a moment.

“John…” Sherlock was panicked. He was supposed to speak!

“I… Sherlock, I…”

“Don't want to.” He sighed and dropped his head. The box snapped shut.

“No.” John grabbed his wrist with the box with one hand and used the other to push into his own pocket. He pulled out a similar sized box but in dark blue.

Sherlock reached for the box, not daring to breathe. When he opened it and saw the ring inside, tears sprang to his eyes. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

“I've been trying to find the perfect time to give it to you for weeks.” John grinned, his smile lighting up his face.

The two men hugged almost desperately, then they broke apart, giggling.

“I'll put mine on if you will,” John challenged.

As they put on the rings, a distinct sniffle could be heard from the door to the flat.

“Come in Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock called.

Their landlady appeared carrying the promised chocolate lava cake. She handed it to John then dabbed at her eyes with a corner of her apron. “I'm just so happy.”

Sherlock smirked, just before the door opened.

Mrs. Hudson appeared dragging an irate Mycroft by the ear.

“See, Mycroft dear. I told you!”

“Sherlock would you please tell your landlady to unhand me.

“I don't know...” The detective turned to his fiancé. “What do you think? Should she unhand him or drag him down the street?”

“Hmm, excellent question.”

“Sherlock…” Mycroft growled.

Nothing could burst the youngest Holmes' bubble.

“Anything you want in particular, John? I know I would quite like my trust fund. At the age of 33 it's about time.”

“Maybe something to make my gun legal.” John shrugged. “Besides you, that's about it.” He went up on his toes and kissed Sherlock thoroughly. “I'm too bloody happy to think of anything else.”

“He can pay for the honeymoon. And you can get a car and a driving licence…”

“Alright, alright, 'Lock.”

Sherlock turned on his brother. “One more condition and she'll let you go, right, Mrs. H?”

She nodded.

“Be my best man?”

John grinned, not really surprised. Apparently, Mycroft was. He stood, Mrs. Hudson letting him go. “Do you mean that, baby brother?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Then, yes.” He made an abortive move towards his brother. Sherlock responded by closing the gap between them and hugging his Mycroft for the first time in years.


End file.
